


fever, fever

by vannral



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint whines, Fever, Forehead Touching, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5624380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannral/pseuds/vannral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Feverish forehead touches</p>
<p>Clint is sick, and he doesn't whine, thank you very much. (He does.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	fever, fever

Clint feels miserable. His eyes are bleary and blinking _hurts_ ; his muscles feel weird and heavy, and frankly, he’d just want to curl into his blanket fort and sleep for a year or two. Natasha isn’t too impressed, when she walks in; she crosses her arms and clicks her tongue.

    “You look awful”, she announces bluntly, because what the hell would sugarcoating help.

    "Thanks. You’re not helpful. Go away. Or bring me something. Whisky sounds good. Then, you’d be helpful." 

    "Whisky? That’s weak. Vodka is excellent, but I don’t think - Oh, Maximoff." 

Pietro, who appears into the living rom, raises his eyebrows, when he sees Clint wrapped in a blanket. "What is going on?” he asks, managing to sound both suspicious and worried. 

Natasha smirks; lazy and perfectly symmetrical. 

    “Oh, Barton is being whiny”, she answers and glances over her shoulder at Clint, who very much doesn’t appreciate her tone. 

    “That is not new”, Pietro remarks with a crooked grin, and seriously, Jesus Christ, these two Eastern-European idiots are _jerks,_ Clint doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this kind of shit.

He’s startled out of his sulky thoughts, when Pietro kneels in front of him. Then, without any warning, and dear _god_ , Clint is so sure he’s gonna get a heart attack, Pietro presses their foreheads together; it’s such a simple gesture, surprisingly intimate and familiar that Clint’s breathing hitches. 

    “You have fever, old man”, Pietro finally says and scowls at him, like Clint’s decided to get sick. Seriously fuck this. 

    “I feel like shit”, Clint mutters, very much _not_ whining. 

    “You are sick." 

    "Yeah, I heard you first time. Anyway, it sucks.”

Pietro’s scowl deepens. “You should not be up”, he points out. 

    “I was gonna…not be up, until she showed up. Then she bullied me and I didn’t wanna get up." 

Natasha shrugs. "He looked so pathetic”, she replies -as if _that’s a reply,_ she’s fucking impossible, and really, Clint would like throw a pie at her. If he had any. God, pie would be so good right now. He’s kind of hungry. 

    “’m not pathetic”, he mutters, and Pietro ruffles his hair; it seems instinctual, like he’s not even realizing he’s doing it. “’m gonna go sleep. This day sucks." 

Pietro’s expression softens into a sheepish grin. "Remember to drink water." 

    "Fuck off”, Clint mutters as he gets up, but the world tilts and blurries around the corners. He doesn’t even realize he’s falling, before Pietro catches him. 

    “Are you going to faint?” Pietro asks, but it doesn’t sound cocky or teasing. He sounds worried. 

    “…nah. Wanna go to sleep, okay, kid." 

    "Not a kid, and you sound like one right now." 

Clint doesn’t care. He feels awful. More awful. Awfullest. Whatever. He doesn’t complain, when Pietro takes him to his own room, and the fact that Pietro doesn’t even make a comment about all the purple things in Clint’s room or his dog or - well, anything, is kind of weird. Or great, Clint’s not really sure. 

    "Thanks”, he slurs as Pietro lowers him onto the bed. It feels heavenly against his feverish skin. 

    “Do you need something?” Pietro asks, and the weird thing is that Clint knows he means it. 

    “Nah. Wanna sleep." 

He hears Pietro snort. "Of course. You are an old man, after all. Must battle sickness harder." 

Clint thinks something witty in return, but he falls asleep. His dreams are uneasy and delirious, and he wakes up after hours, bathing in clammy sweat and heart pounding frantically in his chest. Something about blood and bullets, a confusing mixture of Pietro and Nat and - 

    "Old man? Clint?”  

Clint blinks. Pietro stands next to his bed, and his face is tight…worried.  

    “What are you doin’ there?” Clint asks, rubbing his sore eyes. “Watchin’ me sleep?”

    "Of course not, that is creepy”, Pietro scoffs, but he observes Clint closely under his eyebrows. “You were - shouting. I - ” Pietro swallows and looks flustered. His expression settles for defiant. 

He doesn’t say he wasn’t worried. He doesn’t say he was scared that Clint was doing something stupid. He just - 

    “’s just fever, Pietro”, Clint says, voice gentle. Things look a little clearer, and his head doesn’t pound so painfully. “’m okay. Really.” 

    “You still look awful." 

Well, that sounds more like the bastard, Clint thinks fondly. "Yeah, ‘cause it’s my face, genius." 

    "Do not try that, nothing wrong with your face. I meant you look tired." 

    ”'Cause I am tired, duh. I’ll just grab a pain-killer and go back to sleep and then I look even better.“  

He stops. There’s a glass of water and painkillers on his night table. Also a small sandwich. Clint gapes at them, startled. Pietro looks awkward - well, he _tries_ to look like he’s not uncomfortable or embarrassed, but he almost vibrates in place. 

Clint lifts his head and beams at him; violent surge of fondness and affection flowing into him, warm and sweet. 

    "Thanks, Pietro. You didn’t have to." 

Instead of replying, Pietro leans forward again and presses his forehead against Clint’s. He closes his eyes. "You are still warm." 

    "Yeah”, Clint replies, breathless and dizzy in a way that’s got nothing to do with fever.  

Pietro pulls back and winks. “Do not die. Who else can keep up with me, then?” 

    “They would kill you in a week without me stoppin’ 'em. Now go on. I wanna sleep." 

Clint snuggles into his pillow and falls asleep. But yeah, this isn’t so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. :)   
> My tumblr: vannral.tumblr.com


End file.
